My latest spirit stone is a shell

Long before I saw Lee Brower speak about his gratitude rock in The Secret I’ve had an affinity for spirit stones. You likely have too.

It’s a universal inclination to grab onto a personal talisman that grounds you to things elemental. 

Women have jewelry. We men have to work at it a little harder. Except for Deppian pirates and Jersey Shorers we don’t tend to wear things about our neck or wrists or fingers, sacred or otherwise.

Before Lee Brower spoke about touching/seeing his gratitude rock and instantly reminding himself about that for which he was grateful, I kept a couple of stones, one smooth as polished metal, the other rough and pitted. I liked the polarity. It felt as if the spectrum of life lay in between. 

Though I kept them mostly at my desk, to contemplate when I felt the need for grounding, at times I’d go to work on Wall Street with one in either pocket  the better to balance and activate the poles of my life. At the time I was business-centric by day and a creative expressionist by night. (I still am!)

Lee Brower gave me a different sense of my personal stones. After viewing his profound story I tended to keep a favorite spirit stone in my pocket all the time as I went about my day. 

For me the spirit stones ground me in Spirit. They are access points to LoveJoy in the midst of a happening life!

Interesting how things break and fall apart, and sometimes you get an unmistakable sign of an impending rupture in your life.

Around the time of the 2008 crash, before our family and business underwent its upheaval (you can read about it here, here and here. Oh, and here if you want a little follow up), I dropped my spirit stone on our tile floor. It cracked in half, this sleek gray stone . . . and I was temporarily brokenhearted.

I interpreted it this way  the obvious reading  that our lives were in for dramatic re-invention. Though I tried to spin it positively, it didn’t feel like the break in our lives was going to be as clean. In retrospect it was a sharp clear break from what came before . . . .

Yesterday my son and a friend of his and I hiked down the beach to the pier. The ocean was turbulent and Zane had great fun being body slammed by the waves breaching the beach and sweeping him off his feet. His friend, more timid, stayed above the waterline.

Though the hard-charging surf had denuded the beach of most everything, the two spirit stones you see above were there for me. One large and pocked for my desk  a stone; the other  light and smoothly curvilinear, perfect for my pocket  a shell.

Writing you this . . . I’ve just realized . . . that my next phase of life must be at hand. These spirit stones found me on a day at the beach when no stones or shells were visible . . . obviously an announcement of something impossibly good to come.


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Streetlight at night